


Kindred

by X_Kartoffel_X



Series: Sharp Suits & City Lights [6]
Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, I'm Sorry, M/M, Minor Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII), Rude (Compilation of FFVII)-centric, Rude is shit with the cold, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Turks (Compilation of FFVII), the world's longest and most frustrating slow-burn continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23823922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Kartoffel_X/pseuds/X_Kartoffel_X
Summary: “Ma keeps it neat as she can, I guess.” Reno leans a little heavier into Rude’s side, and hums. “Pop works construction, above plate - Edge. So he’s pretty good at patchin’ the place up when stuff...”He makes an attempt at a sound effect that might be a building crumbling, or might be an approximation of radio static.“Just you three livin’ here?” It is a small building - a matchbox of a home - which Rude doubts has more than a handful of rooms, inside.“Nah, little brother ‘n two sisters, too.”At that, Rude blinks.He wouldn't have guessed that Reno had siblings at all. Let alone three.
Relationships: Reno & Rude (Compilation of FFVII), Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII)
Series: Sharp Suits & City Lights [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1023375
Comments: 17
Kudos: 89





	Kindred

**Author's Note:**

> OOOOOOOOOH BISH. Who's here for some drunk!Reno background exposition?? 
> 
> Look, things are about to get A N G S T Y, with a capital A, so I figured a little soft chapter (as a treat), couldn't go amiss?? xD I am not sorry.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy this instalment!
> 
> Again, I do not have a beta reader, so I try to catch all my own typos/errors, but I'm sorry if any sneak through!

“To another year!!” 

The clinking of glasses, bottles; the spilling of overflowing cups, and the sound of cheerful chatter, fills the bar from floor to ceiling. Patrons not invited to this particular gathering eye the group with a mixture of annoyance, intimidation, and fear; dodging around its outskirts and giving the partygoers a wide berth. Some even opting to leave the establishment, in pursuit of quieter haunts. Rude couldn’t blame them, for that. It wasn’t often that ShinRa’s Administrative Research Department descended, en-masse, upon _any_ establishment - unless they were raiding it, of course.

A few of them had decided on having drinks in Wallmarket; a celebration of Gun’s third full year as a member of the Turks (and honestly, an increasingly rare excuse to get drunk of late, for most of them), and her third year of not getting herself killed in action. Rude had agreed to go because he _likes_ Gun - had helped oversee her training, when she had joined up, and found her easy to be around… and, also, because Reno had already said _he_ would be there - and the two of them are a package deal, nowadays. He supposes that just over two years of being Partners in this sort of job will do that to you - a face you’ve been around for so many months, day in and day out, in a job _this_ intense, is a face that you become rather attached to…

It has been long enough now, that Rude doesn’t have it in him to lie; to admit anything other than the fact that he has become rather attached to Reno.

There is a dip in his couch, where Reno has slept on it so often that the cushions have begun to retain his shape, no matter how often Rude flips them, in an attempt to get it out - to avoid having to buy a new one (though Reno has complained often enough about how uncomfortable it has become, that a new couch seems an imminent purchase). A second mug is always present on his countertop, ready and waiting for Reno to help himself to the filter pot. Rude buys food that he himself doesn’t ever even _think_ about eating, because Reno grins like an idiot when he goes rooting through his kitchen, and finds his favourite snacks on-hand. He has even started leaving out a spare towel, just in case… but that was largely after Reno left hair-dye stains all over the item’s once pristine-white fibres, and it didn’t seem to be of much use to anyone else. Though, the next time he had bought new ones, Rude had made sure to buy black. 

Less likely to stain, anyway.

Rod had joked that - all things considered - it wouldn’t be surprising if Reno moved a tooth-brush into Rude’s apartment soon enough, and started taking up closet-space to boot. Asked when they were going to set a date.

Reno had flicked elastic bands at him from the safety of his desk for the rest of the day, and told him, in all seriousness, that he regretted suggesting him for the team.

It was clearly a lie, since Rude knew for a fact that Rod was doing pretty well in his training - bar some small areas that could be improved with further practice, and field-work - and that Reno had been commended for making the call to recruit him, instead of taking him out there and then, when he had been caught attempting to steal a motorbike from the ShinRa garages… but he didn’t have to tell Rod that. Just shrugged, when the rookie asked if Reno meant what he was saying - and perhaps insinuated that, as a Senior Turk, it wasn’t out of Reno’s power to revoke that kind of decision.

It was, but Rod’s expression at the time had been priceless.

Reno and Rod are, currently, engaged in a heated drinking contest. Since being made to eat shit, when Reno had knocked him clean off the bike he had been trying to escape with, in one fell swoop with his stun baton, Rod seemed to have taken it as a personal challenge to outdo him in every aspect imaginable. Chose the same weapon, when offered his choice of ShinRa approved equipment; would ask for Reno’s scores in training simulators, and desperately ( _if futilely_ ) attempt to beat them. He had even tried, many a time, to buddy up to Rude, as if it might grant him some inside knowledge of how to one-up his self-appointed rival; this usually led to lies about things Rude had witnessed Reno do in their time together as Partners. Always ridiculous, and impossible, just to give Rod - who like many others, couldn’t seem to comprehend the idea that Rude _might just be joking -_ something further to attempt to beat.

Honestly, Rude found the whole situation hilarious.

Reno, however, took the challenge very seriously… which is, of course, why Rude is currently watching him, sat across the table from Rod, knocking back a line of ten whiskey shots with a look on his face so intense that it makes the small hairs on the back of Rude’s neck stand on end.

Gun, something of a lightweight, her head resting on his shoulder and her whole body heavy against his side, mumbles something he doesn’t quite hear.

“What?”

“I said, idiots… both of ‘em.”

“Yeah.” It is impossible not to agree. Reno has just slammed his last glass down. Rod sits with three still in front of him, and a rather green complexion beginning to form across his features, as Katana smacks him on the back in encouragement, and Tseng - sitting a little ways away from himself and Gun, at the main bar, pinches the bridge of his nose ashamedly at their antics. A word that sounds like it might be ‘rematch’, but which more closely resembles _‘remmeshhhh’_ , falls from Rod’s lips, and Reno - all smirks and languid motions - gestures for a passing waitress to bring them another bottle to refill their glasses. Gun had taken the last one; brought it - and its remaining contents - over to share with Rude once their shots had been poured, and the strange spectacle had begun.

The two redheaded Turks had, embarrassingly, engaged in inebriated shit-talk for a good solid ten minutes before the drinking had actually started. 

It had provided ample excuse to get drunk themselves, at least. He and Gun had polished off most of the remains in the bottle, in that time… though now, he is wondering if Gun really _ought_ to have done so.

“My sister- My _sister_... wanted to come tonight…” Gun half-laughs, tone disbelieving, and Rude tries not to sigh too loudly when he feels her turn her face into the sleeve of his shirt.

He will never get the makeup stains out, but then, it’s only a shirt. He has more ( _too many_ , Reno would say).

“Can you see.. _my little sis_ … in her school uniform, moonin’ over Tseng… with these idiots around…” Gun snorts, hiccups, leans back a little, and pours another few fingers of whiskey into each of their glasses - a generous helping going to the floor, as well, as their swiped bottle is left empty in the aftermath. 

Rude looks further down the bar, to Tseng, who is only on his third drink of the evening, and who looks - very much - like a proud but _horribly embarrassed_ older sibling, chaperoning a bunch of rambunctious teens on their first night out, and nods at him in silent understanding, when their gazes meet.

The idea of a smitten school girl hanging off his arm, on top of all this chaos, is surreal.

Or maybe that’s the alcohol talking.

“Wouldn’ ... wanna have to… have her deal with… those two.” Gun hiccups again, louder, and briefly covers her mouth as if anticipating some follow-through. Rude passes her a napkin, though she doesn’t use it - just looks at it, turning it over in her hand, confused. The smell of sour whiskey clings to them both, and Rude chases it away with a fresh gulp. “S’bad enough we’re stuck with ‘em at _work_ , huh?”

She laughs, and Rude looks over to see Reno - again - knocking back his drinks with a speed that is almost dizzying, as Rod struggles to even bring his first glass to his lips - swaying in his seat.

“Well-” A loud burp slips free of Gun’s lips, and Rude tries not to laugh. She waves a hand in front of her face, grimacing at the lingering reek of whiskey. “I get’a leave ‘em at work. Guess you gotta deal with Reno at home too, huh?”

He hums; it’s not _untrue_ . Lately, Reno spends more time at Rude’s place than his own, and with how his mother’s treatments have been going… well, it’s nice to have the company. Loud, sometimes abrasive, and often inconsiderate company, but _company_ all the same. Reno, Rude has noticed over the last year, has a habit of picking up on his moods in a way that no one else seems to - and of picking up on what alleviates those moods, as well. When dark clouds form behind his eyes, and his arrangement of the items on his desk, or in his kitchen, or closet, become borderline obsessive, Reno always appears with some distraction. _‘Let’s go for drinks’_ , _‘Heard about this place that does boxing tournaments - wanna go see one?’,_ or _‘Katana called, yo, shift swap. We’re on duty tonight - what a pain, right Partner?’_

Rude has never mentioned that Katana had once let slip that Reno had always _asked_ for the swaps. Said, on one occasion, that Reno had told him that he and Rude _‘needed to blow off some steam, and crack some skulls’._

Hitting dumb thugs who think they can take on ShinRa is much easier than thinking about upleasant things. 

“Must be nice.”

Rude swallows down another mouthful of whiskey from his glass; feels the burn down his throat. “What must be nice?” 

“Having... _someone_.”

He pauses, glances down at the top of Gun’s head; he wants to ask her what she means by that. Why she sounds so wistful, and why her tone is so soft… but a snore alerts him to the fact that she has fallen asleep, nestled into his side.

It makes him think of how his mother, during a recent phone call, had asked him _‘is there no one special in your life?’_ , and he knows… knows that she asked only because she cares. Because she doesn’t want to leave him alone, when the inevitable happens. When her treatments no longer buy her further time, and she succumbs to her illness. Returns to the Lifestream, as people often put it (as if that is some kind of comfort, to anyone at ShinRa, who knows _exactly_ what Mako Reactors _do)_.

Only there is a lot to unpack in how he might respond to her question, and he would rather not think about those things. 

He had said _no_ at the time - the word feeling heavy on his tongue. Her response, though warm and understanding, had been laced with disappointment _‘Oh, well, you’re still so young. There’s plenty of time.’_

He knows that she is worried; knows that the idea of leaving him, thinking he might be alone for a long time, is something that frightens her. As he swirls his drink around in its glass, he wonders how much longer they will have together; not that he is able to see her, much. With his work as it is, any emotional attachment - most especially family or relationships - were something that simply fell by the wayside.

His work has become so tangled into his identity now, that he isn’t sure who he is without it. His closest relationships now are with work colleagues; with Reno, especially.

Everything revolves around ShinRa, and there is no getting away from the fact.

_“You really deserve to be happy, Rude.”_

And it isn’t that he is unhappy, he thinks, sat at the bar, listening to the havoc his co-workers are wreaking upon the entire establishment as their veins fill ever-more with alcohol which seems in endless supply on the company budget. It isn’t that he isn’t content.

_There is a weight on his shoulders, and he knows it all-too-well._

But perhaps something is missing.

His eyes, traitorous behind the safety of his shades, find Reno again before he can stop himself. Reno, who is whooping loudly in his haze of victory - his shirt, now held open by only two buttons, hanging off one boney shoulder, his jacket long since missing - abandoned within minutes of entering the bar. The little trio of freckles, that Rude noticed so long ago now, sits stark on his collarbone. Drawing Rude’s gaze, as ever.

He downs the rest of his drink, and Gun’s too, once he saves it from her loosening grasp. Chases away thoughts that have no place in his mind.

_He cannot think about it._

* * *

“May I?” A voice breaks through the quiet reprieve that Rude has found himself sitting in for some time; Gun, still asleep, had curled up against the bar after he had carefully repositioned her so that he could sit a little more comfortably, without fear of accidentally waking - or Ifrit forbid, _dropping_ \- her. When Rude looks up - the slight buzz of the alcohol in his veins dimming his reactions, he blinks. Takes a moment longer than he ought to, to process things. Black hair, sleek, and swept back into a ponytail; a uniform still utterly pristine and perfectly pressed.

“Sir.” Tseng, patient in the face of the delayed response, takes up the seat beside him with a curt nod - the barest hint of a smile upon his features. 

Besides the unconscious form of Gun, it is just the two of them left at the bar itself; patrons who have no connection to their own group having begun to slowly filter out of the bar, with progressing determination, as the night has drawn on. Though Rude has noticed a frown forming on the bartender’s features, the man has yet to comment on it; probably knows that it would be a foolish move. 

Knowing Tseng, he will slip the man extra before they leave, for the trouble, anyway.

“Not joining the fray?” He spares a glance towards their colleagues, and Rude follows his gaze; takes in the increasingly dishevelled appearance of the other Turks. The ever-wider berth that the few remaining patrons of the bar are beginning to offer them - there are two recruits that Rude does not know too well (yet, anyway), in some sort of heated debate (he hears something that sounds like _‘no, it’s kwaaark!’,_ met by an infuriated _‘no, dumbass, it’s ‘kweehhh!’_ , and wonders what kind of people they have _actually hired_ ). Katana, ever the lightweight, looks like he might hit the deck at any moment - swaying his way around the group’s table as if he cannot decide where to sit, and tripping over anything and everything in his path. The contest, which he had ceased to observe in favour of enjoying his quiet drink, looks to be almost over, now, though from where Rude sits, he cannot tell how much actual drinking has taken place during this final round, or how much of it has been further embarrassing trash-talk.

From the smug expression he can make out on Reno’s profile (and the fact that he cannot actually _see_ Rod sitting up at the table - but can see a shape that looks like someone passed out, splayed across it, instead), Rude is pretty certain he can put money on who has won, either way.

“Maybe when I’ve finished my drink.” He looks towards Tseng again, forcing his focus back to the conversation, instead of his Partner’s lounging form, and sees again - a smile, there. _Knowing._

It is gone again, before he can assess it any further. Though Tseng’s expression remains fond he looks about as serious as ever.

“You’d best finish it quickly, then. I doubt he’ll be wanting to indulge in his usual antics alone, for much longer...” Turning a little in his seat to place his own drink down on the bar, Tseng makes a gesture towards the bartender, who nods and sets about making something at the silent order. Their Assistant Director seems content to simply sit together, like this… and it isn’t that Rude minds; diligent as their Assistant-Director was, and as seriously as he took his role, Tseng was pleasant company. To _Rude,_ anyway.

Quiet, and contemplative. They could - and often did - sit in companionable silence together quite readily.

Quiet, however, is something the bar does not seem willing to offer them tonight.

“Heeeeey, Partner. Lemme borrow your shades, s’way too bright ‘n here.” When he turns, he can see that Reno is utterly wasted. Without even needing to hear the slurring of his words, he can see the way that he is stumbling across the bar in a vaguely Rude-like direction, and for a moment he considers moving out of the warpath… but Reno looks so _damn_ happy, and he just can't bring himself to move. Doesn’t want to interrupt that rare, genuine joy that has slipped onto freckled features… cant, he struggles to admit, seem to look away from those features, either.

He doesn’t bother asking Reno where his goggles have gone. Probably nabbed by one of the other Turks - MIA for the remainder of the night. Instead, he takes a moment to enjoy how there is now a softer quality to Reno’s angular features. Like this, with his hair falling a little haphazardly across his eyes, and his cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol in his bloodstream. 

Tseng, still sat to his right, is merciful enough not to make comment, when Rude silently - without any fight or struggle (because by now, after this long, he knows it would be futile, anyway) - lets Reno’s clumsy fingers prod at his features, until they find purchase on his shades.

If he raises a brow just slightly, well. It’s more mercy than Rude is probably owed.

The room is a little too bright, and it swims as he loses the protection of tinted glass. When his senses, dulled from his own evening’s drinking, take a few beats longer than usual to comprehend the shift in perspective.

Reno brings the glasses to his own features, and _beams_.

_He can't think about it._

“Thanks, Partner.”

He disappears, sucked back into the thrumming din of the bar crowd; back to join the others - to continue tormenting the more junior Turks, or perhaps to practice shit-talking with random inebriated bar patrons who bump into him or catch his attention involuntarily. To inevitably grow bored. To come wandering back over to Rude near closing-time, and ask why he hasn’t joined in the fun. Will drag him over, and into the fray, for a time, and eventually, ask to be helped home.

_“Is there someone special in your life, Rude?”_

_‘No, your place’_ , he will undoubtedly say, when Rude - with Reno’s lithe form propped against his side, and one gangly arm pulled around his shoulders for support - asks where his keys have gotten to, during the night’s escapades. He had laid out some blankets on the couch already, with this in mind…

_He had said no-_

Rude doesn’t know when this became normal practice… it just did.

He used to hate the crush, the din, of places like this. Too much, too bright, and too loud… but somehow, Reno makes them that little bit more bearable. Would let him have his time on the sidelines, to adjust to the atmosphere - enjoy a quiet drink, and settle (whether alone, or with company, like now) - and then would appear to pull him into the hive of activity when the time felt right. When his posture has eased, and his mind has stopped swimming from the sudden overload of stimulus. 

When they first met, the idea that Reno would ever be so aware - and so acutely _considerate_ \- of the differences between himself and Rude had been an impossible thing to imagine… Sometimes, even now, Rude will witness how terribly _inconsiderate_ Reno can so easily and _knowingly_ behave towards so many others, and find himself wondering why-

_But he already knows._

He moves to chase that thought away with a gulp of his drink, and frowns when he finds that his glass is empty.

“Here.” Tseng’s hand appears in his peripheral, a drink clasped between long, elegant fingers - and in his current state, it takes Rude a moment or two to register that the drink is being offered _to him_ . Tseng, the slightest hint of a smirk quirking at the corner of his lips, inclines his head towards their rambunctious coworkers, as Rude accepts the glass. The liquid inside is, blessedly, the same as what he has been having all night, and he hopes he will remember to thank Tseng for it, in the morning. “To the team, and a _surprisingly_ successful Partnership.”

“ _Surprising_ …?” Rude frowns, first at his drink, and then at the Assistant Director, who lets out a small sound that _might_ be a chuckle… but the night has involved a lot of alcohol, and a lot of noise from the bar’s speaker system, and Rude is not sure he trusts his senses entirely on that. “You and Veld were the ones who made the call.”

“Now that it’s gone so well, I’m not afraid to admit that we had… _doubts_ .” Tseng, one elbow on the bar, the other holding up his own drink, takes a sip. His gaze briefly flickers back over to the group; where Katana is now futilely trying to stop Reno and one of the newer recruits from drawing on an unconscious Rod’s face. He coughs, quietly, and this time most _definitely_ to cover his amusement, and turns his attention back to Rude. “You were our make-or-break option, in the end… it was a fifty-fifty chance.”

He smiles; soft, and warm - eyes still trained on the group. On the Turks. His team.

His _family_.

“I’m glad we took the risk. For both of you… I don’t say lightly that you’re doing exemplary work, the pair of you.”

Rude wants to say that he, too, is glad. That Reno being in his life has opened him up to a whole new wealth of experiences that he didn’t have the balls to reach out for before. That letting loose, and not taking things quite so seriously, quite so _constantly_ , had made things so much more interesting. That nowadays, thinking back on life before Reno, everything seems so-

Desaturated.

_Dull._

But he cannot find the words - has never been good with them in all his life - so he tilts his glass, the rim clinking against Tseng’s own, and lets his eyes return to watching his colleagues. Watches Katana helplessly attempting to swat pens away from Rod’s features, with little success. Watches Rod’s sleeping face become a canvas of crude artwork, and childish handwriting. Feels Gun, sleeping near to his side still; close enough that he can feel the warmth of her back, there. And Reno-

Reno, snorting his drink out of his nose when he looks down at his own penmanship. Howling with laughter, and practically rolling off his chair with it - shirt a rumpled mess, barely holding together now, and Rude’s glasses precariously dangling at the tip of his nose.

Reno, who waves over to him, when their eyes meet across the room; loudly begs him to come and take a look at what he has done.

“Duty calls.” He sighs, and with a nod from Tseng, he goes. **  
**

* * *

“If you keep humming the ShinRa SOLDIER March, I’ll dump you off the Sector 3 bridge.” He doesn’t mean it, but the drunken squawk of indignation Reno let’s out in response is the reaction he had been hoping for. He shucks Reno’s arm higher up, around his shoulders, and continues onwards. They aren’t far from the station, now - though Rude had opted to take the longer route back - around and out of Wallmarket, taking them through to the more residential parts of Sector 6, in the hopes that the ‘fresh’ (if you could even _begin_ to call it that) air would clear both of their heads a little. He regrets the decision just a little, now; now that the chill of the night air - the chilly end of mild, to most locals, but to Rude, it feels like a tundra - has begun to bite at his skin and sober his senses (and how he _wishes_ he had thought to put his jacket back on before leaving - instead of slinging both his and his Partner’s jackets over his elbow, instead). It does not help that Reno has given up _entirely_ on the idea of walking - his feet, clad in already scuffed boots, dragging mercilessly along through the dirt of the path beneath both of their feet and leaving a strange trail in his wake.

Rude makes a note to remove the offending footwear from him before they enter his apartment. He will be finding the dust and grime scattered across his floor for weeks, otherwise.

“Oi, Partner… gonna… hurl.” A cursory glance at green-tinted features confirms Reno’s statement. Dutifully, and as he has done many times before now, Rude slows his pace, leans Reno towards the side of the uneven pathway, and waits for him to finish upchucking the contents of his stomach onto the rubble and debris that lines the lower-plate streets.

The sounds are less than pleasant, but nothing Rude hasn’t heard before. 

“ _Urgh…_ cheap lower plate booze don’t agree with me anymore, I guess.”

“Quantity was the problem, Reno, not quality.” He doesn’t say it with any sign of pity, but Reno pats at the back of his head with the arm Rude is holding across his shoulders to keep him upright, anyway. 

Rude waits for a beat or two - waits for the last couple of shaky breaths, when the dry heaving has eased away.

“You good?”

“Yeah, yeah… _no_ .” He leans forward further, head briefly falling between his legs, and Rude has to loosen his grip, and instead hold him at the elbow for a moment or two, to allow for the movement. Waits, again, for the wet slap of vomit on the ground. “I dunno if we’ll make the last train like this…” Reno - offering the closest thing he will likely manage to an apology - rubs the last remnants of bile from his lips, and puts his free hand to his stomach. Rude considers how far they have to go, still; and realises that the scenic route - and saying no to heading back with the others, when they called it a night - perhaps might have been a poor choice. “But- think it’s over… Not gonna… _urgh-_ not gonna ruin your shirt today, Partner.”

“Gun already did, but thanks for the thought.” He is too busy at first, thinking about how the hell the two of them are going to get back if they miss the last train, to notice the lazy smirk that wanders onto Reno’s features. Only spots it when he feels the shake of a snickering laugh against his ribcage, and glances down to be sure his charge is alright; noticing how it doesn’t reach his eyes - a habit of an expression, if anything.

“She cover you ‘n lipstick, finally? _Lucky._ ” There is a wistful tone to Reno’s slurred words, but Rude doesn’t ask if Reno means that _he_ is lucky, or that _Gun_ is lucky.

_"I broke things off with that chick I was seein'."_

He doesn’t want to be reminded of the weight that seemed attached to that statement. Something left hanging in the gulf of space that sometimes seems to form like a chasm between them, in these quiet moments that are just _theirs_. 

He doesn’t want to know the answer to that lingering, unuttered _‘why?’_.

“Just her makeup from where she passed out on me… some of her drink, too.”

It doesn’t warrant the explanation. They are Partners, and friends, and in this line of work, that is already _more than enough_. 

It _has_ to be.

“Gross. Ma’ always said dish soap gets out makeup… s’better than detergent.” Reno sounds proud of himself for remembering the tidbit, and looks it, too; a self-satisfied little smile on his drunken features, as they wander amidst corrugated iron and crumbled brickwork.

“Didn’t take you for a housewife.” The sign for the station is ahead, and Rude takes comfort that they are at least going the right way; thinks that perhaps they will make it, after all; there is no hustle and bustle, and no sound of an engine running. Reno’s feet drag again, catching on litter and rubble every so often, as they go. Rude wonders if they will be better off, should he carry Reno the rest of the way.

“Not with the state of my apartment, yo. Jeez.” Rubbing at his forehead, probably to stave off an oncoming headache, Reno stumbles a little against Rude’s side; his frame, though boney, is warm, and familiar, and Rude barely has to adjust his grip to keep his Partner upright. “Hey, that’s… yeah that’s…” Gesturing vaguely in the direction of a dented, half-bent street lamp (weighed into place by sandbags, it appears), Reno seems to light up suddenly. “It’s like… just down here.”

“Huh?”

“Right, at that… that corner. _Right_.”

“...the station’s _left_ , Reno.”

He gestures, vaguely, towards a turn-off from the main path; signposted with an old advertisement for construction worker recruitment - fallen on its side, cracked at the corner. Old and long since faded. Rude raises a brow.

“House.”

“House?”

“Yo.”

A pause, and Rude considers that Reno might be more drunk than even _he_ had realised. “...there are a lot of houses down here, Reno.”

Reno, bleary eyed, and still unsteady and a little green in his features, shakes his head and whacks at Rude’s chest; neither of them comment that the hand lingers there after the action. 

“Parent’s house. Forgot which sector we were in-” He moves the hand; takes a moment to hold his stomach, and swallow back something Rude is pretty certain he should have let out instead. “Don't visit anymore… but... Wanna see?”

Rude pauses. Despite the fact that he has mentioned his parents a handful of times since they met, Reno always gave the impression that he was quite private about that part of his life; that he liked to keep it separate from work, in the way Rude had tried to keep _everything_ separate from work (whether that had actually worked, or not). Reno had never said _exactly_ where in the Slums he had grown up, which Sector; referenced the poor state of living, once or twice, or boasting about his familiarity with the layout of the streets below-plate on their patrols, during SOLDIER recruitment, or amid raids, but otherwise, it had been the one part of his life that Rude had just… _accepted_ was his, to keep to himself.

There is a level of trust in sharing this part of his life - as a Turk, doing what they do - that goes beyond that line Rude has always tried to keep between them. With his own mother, it had been unavoidable - unexpected and impossible to control, but _this-_

“You sure?”

This feels like one of the last, fleeting barriers between something they are both ignoring, is at risk of coming down.

“S’only a look, right?”

Rude dithers a little. The streetlamp - twisted and distorted before them from some past impact - flickers dimly, and makes his eyes hurt; draws his attention to the fact that they are not covered. Not protected, as they usually are.

A glance downwards, and he sees that Reno still has his shades; now tucked into the one remaining closed button of his shirt. Feels uneasy, suddenly, without them. Open and vulnerable in a way he hasn’t done in a while, around his Partner; avoiding Reno’s gaze by pretending to look towards the diverging pathways of the street ahead, once again. The Plate, high above them, suddenly feels like it is falling ever downwards - the air heavy and close. The scrap metal and forgotten rubble lined streets feel much narrower than before; he wants to take a step back, to compose his thoughts. Weigh up the changes this might bring to their dynamic; the risks, the _reasons…_

_His mother’s question burns somewhere in the back of his mind._

“Come on, s’close, ‘n it’ll just be for a minute.” Reno has him by the arm, even with his unsteady feet. His mind is buzzing with the last remnants of the alcohol in his system, and he proves easier to move than he might have hoped he would be. The turn right has his Partner pressing into his side; when he chances a glance down, Rude sees Reno’s features - soft and smiling. Recognition evident, as he peers around the slum streets, dimly lit as they are by old flickering string lights, and battered lamps.

“Yo… see-” A dry heave, and Reno laughs when nothing but a burp comes up. “See that corner? Some kid broke my arm there… s’funny. Could kick his ass now…” Rude wants to joke that what Reno does on his own time is his own business, so he could come down here and find the guy anytime; but the words stick in his throat… caught behind that _‘why’_ , once more, as he feels he is being let in on something he shouldn’t be. 

“S’probably not alive anymore… sucks. Wanted a pop at him.” Reno snorts, probably at his own lack of sympathy, and continues unsteadily leading Rude along the street. “Woah… one sec, think I’m gonna-” 

A moment's pause - a moment to breathe - as Reno heaves again, but nothing comes out. They resume pace once more - Reno drunkenly directing them through the winding pathways that he seems to know by instinct alone.

“Ma used to hate me runnin’ around out here. Don’t think kids realise how bad it is,’til they see better.” Straightening up, Reno clutches at Rude’s shoulder for support. His gaze, however, is more focussed upon the street ahead - a kind of harsh, disconnected look in his eyes, despite the wry smile twisting on his lips. “By the time I hit sixteen, I fuckin _hated_ this place, too.”

Rude slips an arm underneath Reno’s armpits, and lifts him up against his side again, knowing that they won't get far with Reno in his current state leading them. It is easier, like this; focusing on Reno’s wellbeing, and not on the endless background noise running through his mind. The street lights are duller as they turn the next corner, but the street itself less burdened by metal and brick littering the ground. The houses are more liveable looking - if only a little. Reno shuffles against him, and when Rude trusts himself enough to glance down again, he can see one boney hand rubbing at a freckled collarbone.

There’s something comforting in knowing that Reno is nervous, too; even if he is too drunk to realise it himself.

“That one - third on the left.” It is a small house; ramshackle, and rough around the edges. Left neglected for too long, Rude thinks - though he cannot judge it for that - access to building repairs were not so easy down beneath the plate, and the money for such things could go towards much more pressing needs… food, electricity, and the like. In comparison to the rest of the houses on the street, it could have looked much worse, he supposes. The glass panes in the windows are intact - possibly even relatively new - and the front door looks solid, contrasting the battered slabs of ply hanging off their hinges on the houses either side; the jagged shards that sat in many of their window panes.

Reno snorts. “What a _shithole.”_

“Could look worse.” Rude admits that alcohol makes him a little tactless, at times. Gets his mouth moving before he has had too much time to think about it; but he isn’t lying. The house is in far less of a shambles in comparison to the majority Rude has witnessed on the many patrols they have walked below plate; still a mess, of course - bits of corrugated iron covering holes in the roof, and some of the mismatch of brick and woodwork having crumbled away in patches - boarded and covered over here and there with whatever could be used. It reminds him a little of his home back in Mideel; though the walls had been a patchwork of varying woods - and the iron on the roof had been rustier, from the endless humidity. 

“Ma keeps it neat as she can, I guess.” Reno leans a little heavier into Rude’s side, and hums. “Pop works construction, above plate - edge of Sector 3. So he’s pretty good at patchin’ the place up when stuff...” 

He makes an attempt at a sound effect that might be a building crumbling, or might be an approximation of radio static.

“Just you three livin’ here?” It is a small building - a matchbox of a home - which Rude doubts has more than a handful of rooms, inside.

“Nah, little brother ‘n two sisters, too.” 

At that, Rude blinks.

He wouldn't have guessed that Reno had siblings at all. Let alone _three._

“Brother’s like… awh, heck I don’t… thirteen? ‘N the girls are like… nine ‘n five. Wait- no, like four. Eight…? _Shit_ ...” Rubbing at his own forehead, and mussing his already tangled mess of hair, Reno groans. “Too drunk for this…”   
  
“Never said you had a big family.” 

He wants to ask what that’s like - what it feels like to grow up with siblings. With those sorts of bonds. For Rude, family had been a broken thing; himself and his mother, dreading the presence of his father - fleeting as it was outside of his work. Then it had just been himself and his father, once his mother had left - even after the move to Junon, no one else had ever stuck around for very long; a trail of girlfriends, who never spared Rude a second glance - never intended to get involved enough to need to meet the son of the guy they fell occasionally into bed with. 

He tries to imagine Reno - the older, doting sibling; but the image doesn’t form in his mind. Feels wrong. He can’t see that.

“Left just before my youngest sis was born,” Reno says, by way of explanation, as if he can somehow - despite the fact that he has not once looked up, or away from the building in front of him - see the confusion in Rude’s expression. “Felt like Pax was old enough finally, to help out around the house… Maisey was… four, or five. Yeah, turnin’ five.” He sighs, then leans his head back, against Rude’s shoulder, so that he can look up at him with a wry smile. “Not somethin’ I’m proud of, yo.”

Rude feels a little more sober, as he looks into Reno’s gaze; as he hears the cracks at the edges of his carefree tone. They have been Partners for a good while now; long enough that Rude doesn’t get much opportunity, anymore, to learn new things about him - but each time he does, he is always left surprised. Always left with a deeper understanding of how Reno became the person standing beside him, today.

Rude thinks about the pristine windows of the house before them. The solid front door.

_Once ShinRa has you, there’s no getting out._

“In our line of work… being around them… it’s dangerous.” 

_The rest is all just damage-control._

_Doing what you can to hold onto even the smallest scrap of the things you cared about before._

He thinks about Reno’s own apartment; run down, small. In the back-alleys of the cheaper end of upper-plate Midgar. He had always figured that Reno simply _didn’t care_ about where he lived; spent too much time on the job, or out drinking, to care. Wanted his paycheck to go towards the latter, instead. 

_But…_

“You send them enough to make sure they’re comfortable down here, right?” He looks down, gaze meeting Reno’s. For what it is worth, Reno’s eyes do not once leave Rude’s (though it means his neck is craned back at an awkward angle - body pressed back - half against his chest - for support), and he blinks, slowly. The drunken haze upon his features seems a little clearer, though his eyes are wide and his cheeks a little flushed as his mouth opens as if to say something he suddenly thinks better of - pressing back together soundlessly. 

If Rude lets his hand - previously around Reno’s shoulders to keep him upright - slip down a little, so that it sits closer to his waist… well, neither of them comment on it. It’s easier like this. More comfortable. If it ever comes up, he has been drinking enough to have the excuse of that, at least.

Reno lets out a little huff of a laugh, eyelids drooping; looking away after what feels like forever, though it might have only been seconds.

_Back to normal, moment gone._

“Don’t go tellin’ anyone. I’ve got a rep to keep up, Partner.”

Rude knows, deep down, Reno is a lot softer than he likes people to think; cares a hell of a lot more than he will ever admit.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

_But that can be dangerous, in their line of work._

“Nessa… haven’ ever met her. Hope she’s not drivin’ mom crazy… I was the _worst_ at her age. A real little asshole in the makin’, right?” He laughs, a little harsh in the still night air, and shakes his head. Pulls his body away from Rude to make tracks back the way they came. Rude, who tells himself that it is only the warmth that he misses against his body, when it is gone. 

“Come on, you’re shitty with the cold, ‘n here I am draggin’ you around down here…” It is easy to forget that Reno pays enough attention to pick up on those things; to fall prey to the nonchalant, lackadaisical attitude, and forget that, like Rude himself, he sees a lot more than he lets on.

Straightening up a little, as Reno attempts to do the same, Rude pulls one gangly limb back around his shoulders for support, and puts his free hand on a bony ribcage. Reno snorts out a laugh; continues his thought from earlier. “Don’ think she was all that surprised when I got worse growin’ up.”

Rude takes the first step, waiting for Reno to follow his action and fall into rhythm with him, before they begin their slow trek back towards the station; they might just make the last train still, if they are lucky, but somehow Rude cannot bring himself to hurry for the sake of being sure. Reno’s features look uncharacteristically soft in the warm rays of the flickering lamps overhead, and he finds his lips moving without much thought. “So the knack for trouble’s nothing new, huh?”

“Nah, yo, been gettin’ into that shit since I was-” A vague gesture around waist-height, and Rude assumes Reno is referencing how tall he had been. “I was a mouthy lil’ dipshit, ‘n people around here… they find that handy. Could talk my way outta anythin’.”

“You end up in some kinda gang?” There is no judgment in Rude’s tone when he asks; no judgment in his mind, either. He knows how hard a place like the slums must have been, for anyone, let alone a child, to get by in; knows that anything that might offer a network - protection - was the best thing you could strive for. Junon had had similar pockets - the sorts of places his father had sought work.

He thinks he hears the din of the train, echoing somewhere ahead.

“Kinda… did a lot of runnin’ for packages,” The hand of the arm Rude has draped over his shoulders begins to idly twist in the fabric of his shirt - plays with his collar - as Reno yawns, breath visible in the air before them both. Smoke-like puffs in front of his features. Reno laughs, and Rude looks down in time to see him attempt to blow a ring, with little success “Was always a fast little fucker, and that’s… guess that’s somethin’ some people need.”

Rude doesn’t have to ask what sorts of packages Reno is talking about - as they round the next street corner, and his eyes catch the dimly lit sign for the station - figures quite quickly what he means. Another guess, from way back when, about the nature of his Partner’s past, confirmed; the tattoos below his eyes a telltale sign. A uniform, of sorts, amongst many of the criminal factions beneath the Plate. 

“Must have been handy when you joined up with ShinRa.”

A shrug, throwing Rude’s grip on Reno’s arm off, so that they both stumble forward - eliciting a bark of a laugh from Reno, who has his weight pressed so far against Rude’s side now that he is, like when their walk first began, practically carrying his Partner’s weight. A half hearted smile worms its way onto Rude’s features, as he tries to straighten them both back up; the image of Reno - the drunkard currently tripping over his own feet - wanting to be one of ShinRa’s elite, somehow hilarious. 

“Still can’t believe _you_ wanted to be in SOLDIER.”

“Yo, don’ laugh!” A tug to his collar - a drawling, indignant yelling in his ear, and Rude chuckles; Reno is laughing alongside him - probably all-too aware that he hardly looks like the type. “Grow up in this shithole, an’ those lies ShinRa like to sell look _real fuckin’ good.”_

“Don’t doubt it.” A lot of people, struggling to survive in Midgar, down and out on their luck, seemed to get sucked up into the ShinRa propaganda machine.

“An’... heh, my ma said Nessa really likes SOLDIERs, since her big brother was one.” They are on the steps of the station now, and the last train seems to be waiting for any stragglers to arrive; the conductor, wrapped in a big, thick coat to combat the cool night air, eyeing them both with impatience as they pause. Reno is staring at nothing in particular - eyes hazy, but filled with a strange, fond pride that Rude has never seen there before. “Never told ‘em I left it, so I guess she still thinks… well, anyhow, ma mentioned it, once - sends me messages every so often, right?” He fishes around in the pockets of his trousers, and pulls out his phone - fingers still so naturally deft in their movements. “So I sent her my old helmet for her birthday… here, see? What a dork.”

He angles the screen upwards, as he pulls up a picture - and Rude laughs; a fond chuckle bubbling in his throat. The little girl in the photograph is _tiny_ \- pudgey limbs poking out from a slightly tattered dress that looks as though it has been handed down one-too-many times, and small, stubby fingers - clasped around the bottom of the SOLDIER-regulation helmet pulled over her head. So over-large for her petite form that it reaches her shoulders, obscuring her face from view.

Reno’s voice sounds a little quieter than before, as he bumps his head against Rude’s shoulder, pocketing his phone again. “Don’t ever respond, but… s’nice to hear from ‘em.”

Rude thinks of how his mother sends him messages, daily, even when he doesn’t have the time to reply himself.

“Probably want you to know they’re thinking about you.” He shifts his grip on that boney rib cage - lower - so that he can help Reno over the gap between the train and the platform. Reno, who yawns again - eyes so low-lidded that he looks as though he might fall asleep standing up. Even so, that small smile is still on his features, as he twists his head towards Rude.

“Yo, big softie.”

“Don’t tell anyone.” The train begins to judder to life, as Rude drops Reno down into an available seat; letting himself collapse into the one beside him. He doesn’t say a word, when Reno leans his head back against Rude’s shoulder. 

It had felt cold without him there. 

“I’ve got a rep to keep up.”

Reno laughs (though it might be the start of a light snore), breath ghosting against Rude’s neck, as the train begins to slowly judder towards the upper plate.

**Author's Note:**

> Soft boys soft boys, 'bout to get their heartstrings YANKED
> 
> Yes, I am a cruel, cruel slow-burn enthusiast, and yes, it's time for some of that canonical Before Crisis drama to start creeping in... >D 
> 
> Thanks so much again for reading! Kudos and comments much appreciated! <3


End file.
